


Another Parent, Lost

by Sylvennia



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Good Parent Din Djarin, Grogu | Baby Yoda Being a Little Shit, Grogu | Baby Yoda Needs a Hug, How Grogu Survived Order 66, Implied/Referenced Character Death, No Beta We Die Like Clones, Order 66 Aftermath (Star Wars), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre Chapter 14: The Tragedy, Unnamed Clone Trooper - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28267116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylvennia/pseuds/Sylvennia
Summary: 28 years lie between Order 66 and Din's undertaking of the bounty. Grogu wasn't alone for those 28 years. No, there was someone else who cared for him. As Din cared for him now.Or, the records of how Baby Yoda was saved from the massacre of the Jedi Temple.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda, OC Clone Trooper & Grogu | Baby Yoda
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	Another Parent, Lost

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a post by [@maulusque](https://maulusque.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, [Quo_Usque](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quo_Usque/pseuds/Quo_Usque) on AO3! Thank you for your permission to write this and I apologize for the delay 😅

Din wasn’t sure how he missed the datachip sewn into a seam on the kid robes, threads weakening enough for it to protrude from the fabric. It had seen better days; scuffed and slightly corroded, its carrying case taking the brunt of the wear and tear, seeming mostly functional. He’d have to wait until later to see what was on the chip though, since Grogu only had one set of clothes. (Din had bought him more clothes, but he had shown a surprising dislike for them. He’d since given up on trying to convince the kid after the third time he ‘tripped’ into a muddy puddle, smearing tiny handfuls of mud on the unfamiliar clothes.) Now, he was happily splashing about in a tub of hot water, waiting for his clothes to be cleaned by the sonic.

The chip had no distinguishing features, aside from what appeared to be a serial number, heavily faded with time and use. He wasn’t sure how old it was, considering the kid’s age. Din sighed as a particular loud splash echoed into the cargo bay, resigning himself to mopping up whatever water had escaped Grogu’s bath. If he was lucky, it’d be less than half of the tub. If he wasn't... He pocketed it, heading towards his tiny ‘fresher. It'd have to go on the backburner for now. 

A few days passed before Din found time for himself, distracted by a bounty going sideways. He sunk into the pilot’s chair wearily, massaging his wrists, sore from a badly calculated tumble. He was less Force-sensitive than a rock, but he could have sworn the datachip was burning a hole in his pocket over the past days, begging to be heard. It looked no different than the first time it began to poke out of the kid’s seam, as small as a credit chit, yet somehow heavier than an ingot of beskar, sitting in the middle of his palm. He plugged it in.

A series of short audio recordings popped up on the display, regularly timestamped until a few years before he accepted the bounty puck. A few had been corrupted, but the majority were still readable.

The speaker sounded ragged, breathing heavily, as though they were on the move. Adult, perhaps male, though Din couldn't narrow it down further than that. 

_“This is CT,” he coughs harshly, a deep wracking sound from the chest. “This is CT-6855. Something happened—my squad—they’d never,” he chokes down a sob, followed by a quiet, worried coo._

The kid, he realized. The voice continued, hushing the kid as he went.

_“They’re gone. They’re not the vod’e I know.”_ He instantly recognized the Mando’a despite years of disuse, kept deep within his heart, bittersweet memories of growing up in the covert.

_“I only managed to save one of the younglings; I don’t know what he is, but he looks like General Yoda.” He chuckles weakly, as if remembering fond memories. “Commander Thire had a lot to say about him.”_

_Blaster shots ping off a metallic surface, much too close for comfort. “Sith hells,” he swears. “We have to keep moving, Fifty-five out.”_

The clip ended with a deafening click.

There had been someone else. Someone else that was looking after the kid, long before he accepted that bounty puck. His stomach rolled uneasily. Whoever it was, they were gone now. Din swallowed thickly, selecting the next file.

_“This is Fifty-five.” His voice sounds less wrecked than the previous recording, still exhausted, but with the freshness of a thirty minute cat nap. “What the kriff does this guy eat? And is it a guy?”_

_The voice pauses, moving away slightly. “Pretty sure the kid’s a guy. Hmm. Wha—hey! Cadet, that’s not food!”_

Din snorted as the recorder was dropped with a loud clatter, followed by a desperate scramble. He was well-acquainted with the panic that came with Grogu eating anything he could get his little claws on.

He returned, slightly out of breath. _“Well, he eats almost anything, but I don’t know what he needs nutritionally.” A sad noise interrupts him and he snorts, fondly exasperated. A package gets ripped open. “Here, snack on this.”_

_”We’re leaving planetside today, trying to meet with a contact in the Outer Rim. Fifty-five out.”_

The rest of the clips were similar updates; travel plans and new discoveries about the little swamp rat.

_“Contact was compromised. Moving to the next location.” A sigh. “The cadet eats any and all amphibians we’ve come across. He has a stomach of durasteel, I swear. Hound would’ve been jealous. Fifty-five out.”_

_“I think the cadet’s being tracked; Fulcrum has sent directions for a safe house where we can lie low for a bit. Fifty-five out.”_

_“It was nice to see the captains and the commander, but we can’t stay too long.” He sneezes, shivering slightly. “I think the cadet wants warmer waters anyways. Fifty-five out.”_

Din continued through the list of clips, was beginning to relax to the methodical lull of the recordings when an anguished cry made him tense in his seat.

_“Haar’chak! Hels, how did this happen?” It was punctuated with a thud that could only be a fist slamming into durasteel. His voice is raw, like it had gone through hours of silent screaming before, worn and torn at the edges._

_“Kix was right. Kix. Was. Right,” he emphasizes, inhaling shakily. “There was something in us—a time bomb—a control chip. How did I—” He gasps. “That EMP. The experimental one.” Scribbling sounds fill the air, roughly tapping on a datapad._

_“Migraines. Headaches. Symptoms of brain swelling.” The recorder lands heavily on a solid surface. “The chip must be too well shielded for regular EMPs, but that was an untested prototype. Who—”_

_Silence fills the air, thick and palpable, a hyperspace drive humming in the background, ever-present. “Oh. Oh, no.”_

Din could hear the break, feel the snap of reality, his voice dropping to a mere whisper.

_“The Chancellor.”_

Hairs rose on the back of his neck as the audio stopped, lingering with a phantom touch, a clear warning. A terrible realization. Hyperspace was always cold, space leeching heat with endless greed, but the cockpit was downright _freezing_ now. Din didn’t know much of the empire. He’d been squirreled away in the sewers, away from prying eyes, away from the empire's ruthless hands seeking to cull their kind. And when he’d emerged on his first job as a _beroya_ of the covert, the empire had been all but crumbling, a mere shadow of its former power.

Din glanced at his chrono; there was roughly an hour before Grogu would begin to stir and four files remaining on the datachip. He pressed on.

_“Who the kriff puts a bounty on a cadet?” It’s a low snarl, his voice distorted by a vocoder._

_“Thought Prime said the Guild had standards,” he pauses to return fire, adding to the numerous blaster noises in the background. “The farm is compromised. Home isn’t responding.” A soft whine can be heard during a lapse in the shooting._

_“Oh, cadet. C’mere.” Clothes rustle close to the recorder, accompanied by claws clicking on plastoid._

Din winced as a shot echoed loudly into the cockpit, fired right next to the recorder. Hopefully, it wasn’t loud enough to wake his kid, sleeping downstairs.

_“Think that’s the last of them. Let’s keep moving, kiddo.” He hesitates, unsure. “No destination in mind. Fifty-five out.”_

Three left.

_“The captain says they haven’t had any success reversing the accelerated aging.” He barks a laugh as Grogu coos behind him. “Aren’t we a pair, cadet? I grew up too fast, and you can’t seem to grow fast enough.” Fifty-five shushes him as he starts an apologetic sound, making Grogu squeak with a head pat._

_“Not your fault, kid, let me be a sentimental old man. Take all the time you need.” A chair rattles, air escaping the cushions as he sinks into it heavily. “I think I’ve found someone willing to take care of the cadet. Fifty-five out.”_

Two left.

_His breathing sounds unsteady, words tripping over each other. “We’re a few days out from the target—kriff—they’ve really upped the ante.” An autoinjector hisses and he sighs in relief._

_“Don’t know who wants the kid this badly… but it can’t be anyone good.”_

_“It’s a good place; lots of kiddos for the cadet to play with, frogs to chase, ponds to play in. The natives were wary, rightfully so, but they’re good people. Warm hearts..." he slurs, trailing off._

One left, recorded only a day after the last. It was the longest out of all the files.

_“I hope the kid doesn’t hate me for this.” He snorts. “I don’t know why he doesn’t, since—” Fifty-five inhales sharply, stopping his comment dead in its tracks._

_“I don’t know who’s out there, but if you’re listening to this, the cadet must trust you.”_

_He takes a frustrated breath as the terminal beeps in dissent, putting in another command with more force than strictly necessary, waiting anxiously. It gives an affirmative sound._

_“I don’t have credits. I don’t have anything of value, unless you want this scrap heap. There’s no one left for me. But the kid—the kid still has someone looking for him. He has a place where he belongs. Some of his family survived, I’m sure of it.”_

_”Please,” he pleads weakly, “take him home.”_

Silence blanketed the cockpit as it ended, heavy against his skin, like another layer of beskar. It was suffocating in its intensity, but Din could feel the passion, the unwavering drive to complete a mission. He’d felt the same on his hunts, pursuing the bounty with undivided attention. Repaying his debt by providing for the foundlings, where he’d grown up years prior.

He whirled around as a familiar sound greeted him from the entry of the cockpit.

“Grogu,” Din murmured, voice raspy from prolonged silence. His heart ached at kid’s wilted expression, a tiny claw reaching for him—for his datapad—for the familiar voice, now lost.

“Come here.” Din scooped him into his lap, putting him within reach of the datapad.

“Let’s listen together.”

/////

_“CT-6855, proceeding to the rendezvous point,” he whispered to the empty cockpit, barely audible to himself, dropping the recorder in his lap. The chip was with the kid, sewn carefully into the seam of his collar, in a protective case. The recorder wasn’t on anymore, his final words meant for him and his brothers, marching far away._

_They’d watched over the grueling journey, taking point on the endless mission he’d undertaken, one that could only end in tragedy. And rightfully so. His hands weren’t shaking anymore, had stopped the moment he received confirmation that the cadet was in safe hands._

_“See you soon, vod’e.”_

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr [@a-mediocre-succulent](https://a-mediocre-succulent.tumblr.com)! :3
> 
> Mando'a translations:  
> beroya - bounty hunter  
> beskar - mandalorian iron  
> Haar'chak! - Damn it!  
> vod'e - brother, sister, comrade (plural)


End file.
